


To Your Health

by ChocoChipBiscuit



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: 5+1 Things, F/F, Marriage of Convenience, Political Expediency, Toasting, past Anora/Cailan - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-14 07:47:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16036088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocoChipBiscuit/pseuds/ChocoChipBiscuit
Summary: Five toasts, from Elissa to Anora.





	To Your Health

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Settiai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Settiai/gifts).



> Thank you Settiai for providing so many wonderful prompts! I’ve been wanting to write something with Anora for a while now, and your letter provided the perfect excuse.
> 
> Also many thanks to [sweettasteofbitter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweettasteofbitter) for betaing this fic and catching stray inappropriately placed appendages! :D

Anora strode down the palace halls, lifting her skirts so she could move more quickly. As much as she would have loved to sit with the nobles of the Landsmeet, her father had suggested that her time might be better spent interacting with the other children.

“I can tell you of the families and their politics later,” he said quietly, tilting her chin up as he laid a kiss on her brow, “but remember. Their children are nobles, too. As Queen, you will be dealing with _them_.”

Some of the banns’ children— _no_ , she thought fiercely, _the future banns_ —were entertaining themselves in the courtyard where the guards trained. A few of them were rattling wooden practice swords at one another, and Anora matched faces to names and holdings, noting who was speaking, who was listening. Cailan was already in the center of it all, laughing. He found the affairs of state terribly dull and preferred other distractions, but at least he gave Anora plenty of opportunities to observe.

And along the wall, on the outermost periphery, was one tall girl with her black hair cropped to chin-length. She slouched in a gown of plush fustian velvet, and her face appeared stuck in a permanent scowl. Her eyes, deep-set and narrow to begin with, glared suspiciously. Anora recognized her as the younger Cousland, Elissa—not the heir to the teyrnir, but still likely to be influential in her own right.

As Elissa was not currently interacting with anyone, Anora took it upon herself to make the introduction.

“Hello. Elissa Cousland, is it?”

The other girl gave an almost comical start, hands flying up as she squinted at Anora. Anora bit the inside of her cheek, unsure whether Elissa’s silence was a deliberate slight, but finally Elissa said, “You are Anora Mac Tir.”

“Yes. How are you enjoying the Landsmeet?”

Elissa shrugged. “It is not meant to be entertaining.”

“Then how are you enjoying the dueling?” Anora asked, gesturing at the children with their swords.

Elissa shrugged. “It is terrible.”

It was like pulling teeth. Anora tried again, coaxing, “How so?”

“They shake and dance too much. They make noise for the sake of noise. It is ‘dueling’ in the same way that blowing one’s nose is singing,” Elissa said glumly.

Anora stifled a laugh. “I take it that you don’t like noise?”

Elissa shrugged. “I don’t like lots of things.”

Cailan had managed to knock someone over by now, but was laughing as he offered the other boy a hand up. There might be bruises later, but no hard feelings. Anora thought, for one moment, of the strange contrast between her betrothed—Cailan, golden-haired and laughing, sweetly feckless with his babble—and this dour Cousland.

“But I like to read. I like histories and legends, mostly. Heroes. Griffins. I read a lot about your father, too,” Elissa said unexpectedly.

Anora relaxed, silently letting out a long breath. “We have a lot to learn from history. Especially the examples of those who came before.”

Elissa smiled. It was unpracticed, awkward as a puckered seam, but Anora smiled in return.

So when the call came to gather the children for lunch, Anora impulsively took Elissa’s hand. The taller girl stumbled, following on Anora’s heels, but willingly sat on her left. The table was set, the meal served, and before their first bite, Elissa raised her cup to touch Anora’s.

“To your health,” murmured the young Cousland.

. . .

“To the newlyweds!”

Anora’s face ached from smiling, but she graciously accepted this new round of toasts and well-wishes as she and Cailan circled the reception. The embroidery on her fine slippers was not visible beneath the long folds of her gown, but she was conscious of every delicate stitch, every footstep dragging them through the dust and dirt of the great hall. Her hair was no longer in pigtails—she hadn’t worn pigtails in years, at least not in public—and the tension of the pins in her hair and her coiled braids was a familiar weight. She was not just a bride, but a Queen.

Cailan was diverted to a group of young noblemen. Anora suspected this was not only his natural gregariousness but the fact that one of the men had a new mabari pup, and Cailan was more than happy, even on his wedding day, to throw protocol to the wind. Thank the Maker that Fereldans loved their dogs so, as this wouldn’t do in any other court.

Father came up and kissed her on her forehead, then offered her a cup of water. Anora accepted gratefully, but restrained her thirst to a few sips before holding the rest in her hand. She had quite enough wine already, and was barely wetting her lips with each toast. It would not do to become inebriated, but neither could she appear less than convivial. Father gave her a sympathetic look of understanding, but even he could not stay forever. He gave her another kiss, then made his way to a cluster of banns who were eager to discuss tactics with the Hero of River Dane.

“You wear your marriage well, my Queen. May your husband admire you as you deserve.”

Anoras smiled warmly at Elissa Cousland. From anyone else, Anora might have suspected barbed words and double meanings, but Elissa had always worn her awkwardness with sincerity.

Elissa wore glasses now, a silver-rimmed pince-nez perched high on the bridge of her nose. It gave her a dignified air, rather like an aged general despite her youth. Her hair was only slightly longer than when they first met, and tied back in a tight club. Her smile was still a closed-mouth thing, but overall she had grown into her looks. She was less severe these days, or perhaps it was the lack of a squint now that she had her pince-nez. Elissa had grown into a large woman, tall and heavy, broad-shouldered and thick-waisted. She had opted for a more formal jacket and breeches rather than a gown.

“Should we expect wedding bells for you as well?” Anora asked, arching a brow.

Elissa shrugged. “I doubt my parents could arrange a better match than yours. I have no interest in matching with men, which limits my options somewhat.”

“No interest in a love-match, then?”

Elissa barked laughter, taking a goblet of wine from a passing servant. “I have an unfortunate habit of falling for married women.” She raised her cup, smiling.

“To your health, my Queen.”

. . .

Anora exchanged cool words with Arl Eamon, struggling with a headache and the effort not to collapse until Erlina could tend to her in private quarters. Her handmaiden eased her out of the unfamiliar armor that had been her disguise, tutting and assisting her into a more comfortable gown. Appearances mean much, unfortunately, and Anora had never been a warrior-queen. Arl Eamon made no secret that he would prefer the Theirin bloodline back on the throne, as if good governance came from heritage rather than skill, as if all the nobility were little more than marks in a kennel-keeper’s pedigree, but Anora still had to _work_ with the man.

Warden Cousland—now there was a new title for Elissa. Anora was grateful that Elissa had surrendered to Ser Cauthrien without issue. She had known Elissa for a while now, but she had known Cauthrien for even longer. There had already been enough bloodshed since Ostagar.

Anora gave her best wishes to the rescue party, and busied herself learning what had happened to the kingdom during her captivity.

When Elissa came back, Anora’s heart jumped in her throat.

“I am glad to see you well. And grateful that you allowed yourself to be captured in the first place,” Anora said, squeezing Elissa’s hand with gratitude.

Elissa shrugged, eloquent as ever, and Anora took the time to study her old acquaintance.

It had been years since Anora last saw this woman, and only now could Anora fully register the changes that time had wrought. A scar curved down Elissa’s upper lip, looking distinguished rather than rakish. Her armor added even more bulk to her heavy frame, but Elissa carried it with ease. Her hair was cropped short now, little more than ear length. Her pince-nez remained the same though, silver-rimmed and pinched high on the nose.

“I am glad that we were able to rescue you,” Elissa said, unexpectedly. She wiped the back of her hand across her brow, then smiled gratefully to Erlina as Anora’s handmaiden surreptitiously offered a cup of water. Elissa drained her cup with one long swallow, refilled it, then let out a self-deprecating chuckle as if finally remembering her manners. She raised her cup, meeting Anora’s eyes with a twinkle.

“To your health, my Queen.”

. . .

The Landsmeet murmured around them like a gathering storm, and Anora stood, thunder-struck. Elissa Cousland’s pronouncement still rung the air, echoed in her ears.

 _“I shall rule at Queen Anora’s side, as her wife_.”

Anora’s glib tongue was already moving, even as she registered the political implications. The Couslands were a powerful line, and with Howe out of the picture they were the only remaining teyrns in Ferelden. _Elissa_ was the only remaining teyrn, unless they found Fergus.

No choice but to seize the moment.

“My wife, the queen-consort, the general of my armies, and the hero who will save Fereldan from the Blight,” Anora announced with a confidence she did not yet feel. Alistair quickly relinquished all claims to the throne—with a hefty dose of relief, which he made no efforts to hide—and this seemed the simplest way to prevent a civil war, and yet—

When Anora and Elissa finally had a moment of privacy, Anora leaned close to hiss, “Was this your goal all along?”

Elissa shook her head, and Anora scrutinized her for any hint of duplicity, any suggestion of machination.

As always there was nothing but blunt honesty in those eyes.

“No. But if you cannot have the Theirin bloodline, having the teyrnir of Highever is the next best thing.”

Anora knew she was right. The Couslands were second only in power and status to the royal family. Anora’s own family might have been considered great, with her father’s status and heroism, but after recent events? They would be lucky if the history books remembered him as anything other than a traitor.

Elissa took a deep breath, and positioned herself stiffly, hands behind her back. “I genuinely want what is best for our country, but must confess that this is—was—more than politics. I have greatly admired you, Anora.” Her gaze did not meet Anora’s, instead fixed on some invisible knot hanging overhead, but her cheeks splotched pink. “I do not expect you to return such feelings quickly, if at all, but I would like us to be on good terms. If this is a marriage of politics and nothing more, it is still more than I ever had reason to expect.”

They made their way to a low table, where Elissa poured them each a glass of water. Anora would have preferred something stronger, after all the day’s revelations, but she still needed her wits about her.

“It was never my intent to trap you, Anora,” Elissa said softly. “I may yet die against the archdemon. Political expediency is hardly the stuff of romance, but I—” She shook her head, biting her tongue, and offered a glass to Anora.

“To your health,” Elissa said softly.

. . .

If Elissa was nervous, she made no sign of it as she recited the wedding vows with grace and dignity, her deep voice resonating throughout the room. Anora had already been through one such ceremony, and was only hoping that this marriage might be more of a partnership than her last.

Elissa was wearing a ceremonial version of her Grey Warden armor, more highly ornamented than what she had worn in the field. She looked quite handsome in it, and Anora caught her own reflection in the mirror-polish on the breastplate. Anora was surprised at how familiar this felt, history repeating itself in all its variations; different dress, different spouse, same ceremony.

Cailan had his women though, and Anora had never begrudged him that. Anora had no objection to discreet dalliances, but that would be a conversation for after the wedding. Politics and companionship were more important than fidelity.

“To your health,” Elissa said softly, raising the wedding cup to Anora’s mouth. Her eyes were warm, and Elissa—a grown woman!—blushed to the roots of her hair as Anora drank. 

For the first time, Anora understood those three words had always stood for three others.

. . .

A decade later, even with the sky torn and the Chantry in shambles and the Inquisition making itself known as a new military order on the border, square between Fereldan and Orlais, Anora knew that some things were precious enough to be preserved, even amidst all the chaos and upheaval. She had quietly procured a bottle of sweet wine, from the same vintage they had served at their wedding, and sat down in the royal quarters with her wife.

The years had been kind to them both. Anora had more silver amidst the gold of her hair, a few more lines around her eyes, and rather more smile-lines than she ever thought she would acquire. Elissa had briefly tried a monocle, hated the way it forced her to scowl to keep the reticle in place, and returned to her trusty pince-nez. She had thick grey streaks in her hair now, but still woke at dawn every morning to go train with the royal guard. Anora appreciated this, not just because having an early-riser for a bedmate made it easier to get up as well, but because all that martial training gave Elissa the most magnificent shoulders.

Anora poured two glasses, smiled, leaned across her chair and put a hand on her wife’s knee for balance as she kissed her on the mouth.

“To your health,” Anora murmured.


End file.
